Who would have thought my shrivelled heart
Could have recovered greenness? It was gone
Quite under ground; as flowers depart To see their mother-root, when they have blown ;
Where they together,
All the hard weather,
WHEN God at first made man, Having a glass of blessings standing by, "Let us," said he, "pour on him all we
Let the world's riches, which disperséd lie, Contract into a span."
So strength first made a way;
Dead to the world, keep house un- Then beauty flowed; then wisdom, honor,
Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, When almost all was out, God made a stay, Rest in the bottom lay.
Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing Unto that Providence whose unseen arm Curbed them, and clothed thee well and
All things that be praise Him; and had Their lesson taught them when first
So hills and valleys into singing break; And though poor stones have neither speech nor tongue,
While active winds and streams both run | These are your walks, and you have
Yet stones are deep in admiration.
Thus praise and prayer here beneath the
showed them me
To kindle my cold love.
Dear, beauteous death, - the jewel of the just,
Shining nowhere but in the dark! What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark!
He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know,
At first sight, if the bird be flown; But what fair dell or grove he sings in
And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.
If a star were confined into a tomb,
Her captive flames must needs burn there;
But when the hand that lockt her up gives room,
She'll shine through all the sphere.
O Father of eternal life, and all
Created glories under thee!
Resume thy spirit from this world of
thrall
Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective still as they pass; Or else remove me hence unto that hill Where I shall need no glass.
FOR ONE THAT HEARS HIMSELF MUCH PRAISED.
My sins and follies, Lord! by thee
From others hidden are,
That such good words are spoke of me,
As now and then I hear;
For sure if others knew me such,
Such as myself I know,
I should have been dispraised as much
As I am praised now.
The praise, therefore, which I have heard,
Delights not so my mind,
As those things make my heart afeard,
Which in myself I find:
And I had rather to be blamed,
So I were blameless made,
Than for much virtue to be famed,
When I no virtues had.
Though slanders to an innocent
Sometimes do bitter grow,
Their bitterness procures content,
If clear himself he know.
And when a virtuous man hath erred,
If praised himself he hear,
It makes him grieve, and more afeard, Than if he slandered were.
Lord! therefore make my heart upright,
Whate'er my deeds do seem;
And righteous rather in thy sight,
Than in the world's esteem.
And if aught good appear to be
In any act of mine,
Let thankfulness be found in me,
And all the praise be thine.
By her help I also now
Make this churlish place allow
Some things that may sweeten glad-
In the very gall of sadness.
The dull loneness, the black shade,
That these hanging vaults have made;
The strange music of the waves,
Beating on these hollow caves;
This black den which rocks emboss,
Overgrown with eldest moss;
The rude portals that give light
More to terror than delight;
This my chamber of neglect,
Walled about with disrespect,
From all these, and this dull air,
A fit object for despair,
She hath taught me by her might
To draw comfort and delight.
Therefore, thou best earthly bliss,
I will cherish thee for this.
Poesy, thou sweet'st content
That e'er heaven to mortals lent:
Though they as a trifle leave thee,
Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive
thee;
Though thou be to them a scorn,
That to naught but earth are born, -
Let my life no longer be
Than I am in love with thee!
COMPANIONSHIP OF THE MUSE.
SHE doth tell me where to borrow
Comfort in the midst of sorrow;
Makes the desolatest place
To her presence be a grace,
And the blackest discontents
Be her fairest ornaments.
In my former days of bliss,
Her divine skill taught me this,
That from everything I saw
I could some invention draw,
And raise pleasure to her height,
Through the meanest object's sight,
By the murmur of a spring,
Or the least bough's rustling.
By a daisy, whose leaves spread,
Shut when Titan goes to bed;
Or a shady bush or tree,
She could more infuse in me,
Than all nature's beauties can
In some other wiser man.
Society is all but rude
To this delicious solitude.
No white nor red was ever seen
So amorous as this lovely green.
Fond lovers, cruel as their flame,
Cut in these trees their mistress' name.
Little, alas, they know or heed,
How far these beauties her exceed!
Fair trees! where'er your barks I wound,
No name shall but your own be found.
What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head.
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine.
The nectarine, and curious peach,
Into my hands themselves do reach.
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Insnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less
Withdraws into its happiness,
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find;
Yet it creates transcending these,
Far other worlds and other seas;
Annihilating all that's made
To a green thought in a green shade.
Here at the fountain's sliding foot,
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,
Casting the body's vest aside,
My soul into the boughs does glide;
There, like a bird, it sits and sings,
Then whets and claps its silver wings,
And, till prepared for longer flight,
Waves in its plumes the various light.
Such was the happy garden state,
While man there walked without
After a place so pure and sweet,
What other help could yet be meet!
But 't was beyond a mortal's share
To wander solitary there:
Two paradises are in one,
To live in paradise alone.
WHERE the remote Bermudas ride
In the ocean's bosom unespied,
From a small boat that rowed along,
The listening winds received this song:
"What should we do but sing His praise
That led us through the watery maze
Where he the huge sea monsters racks,
That lift the deep upon their backs,
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own?
He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storms and prelates' rage.
He gave us this eternal spring
Which here enamels everything,
And sends the fowls to us in care,
On daily visits through the air.
He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And does in the pomegranates close
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows.
He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
And throws the melons at our feet,
With apples, plants of such a price,
No tree could ever bear them twice.
With cedars, chosen by his hand,
From Lebanon he stores the land;
And makes the hollow seas that roar,
Proclaim the ambergris on shore.
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The gospel's pearl upon our coast;
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound his name.
O, let our voice his praise exalt,
Till it arrive at heaven's vault,
Which then perhaps rebounding may
Echo beyond the Mexic bay."
a Thus sang they in the English boat
How well the skilful gardener drew
Of flowers and herbs this dial new!
Where, from above, the milder sun
Does through a fragrant zodiac run:
And, as it works, the industrious bee
Computes its time as well as we.
How could such sweet and wholesome
hours
Be reckoned, but with herbs and flow-
ers?
A holy and a cheerful note;
And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.
IT was the winter wild,
While the heaven-born child
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger
lies;
Nature, in awe of him,
Had doffed her gaudy trim,
With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her
To wanton with the sun, her lusty para
Only with speeches fair
She wooes the gentle air,
For all the morning light,
Or Lucifer had often warned them thence;
But in their glimmering orbs did glow, Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.
And, though the shady gloom
To hide her guilty front with innocent Had given day her room,
And on her naked shame,
Pollute with sinful blame,
The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,
And hid his head for shame,
The saintly veil of maiden-white to As his inferior flame
Confounded, that her Maker's eyes
Should look so near upon her foul deform-
But he, her fears to cease,
Sent down the meek-eyed Peace:
She, crowned with olive green, came
softly sliding
Down through the turning sphere,
His ready harbinger,
With turtle wing the amorous clouds
dividing;
And, waving wide her myrtle wand,
She strikes a universal peace through sea
No war or battle's sound
Was heard the world around:
The new-enlightened world no more
should need;
He saw a greater sun appear
Than his bright throne, or burning axle-
tree, could bear.
The shepherds on the lawn,
Or ere the point of dawn,
Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;
Full little thought they then
That the mighty Pan
Was kindly come to live with them be-
low;
Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.
When such music sweet
Their hearts and ears did greet,
The idle spear and shield were high up- Divinely warbled voice
As never was by mortal fingers strook,
The hookéd chariot stood
Unstained with hostile blood;
The trumpet spake not to the arméd
throng;
And kings sat still with awful eye,
As if they surely knew their sovereign
lord was by.
But peaceful was the night,
Wherein the Prince of Light
Answering the stringéd noise,
As all their souls in blissful rapture took :
The air, such pleasure loath to lose,
With thousand echoes still prolongs each
heavenly close.
Nature, that heard such sound,
Beneath the hollow round
Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region
thrilling,
His reign of peace upon the earth began: Now was almost won,
The winds, with wonder whist,
Smoothly the waters kissed,
Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
While birds of calm sit brooding on the
charméd wave.
The stars, with deep amaze,
Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,
Bending one way their precious influ-
To think her part was done,
And that her reign had here its last
fulfilling ;
She knew such harmony alone
Could hold all heaven and earth in happier
union.
At last surrounds their sight
A globe of circular light,
That with long beams the shame-faced
night arrayed;
The helméd cherubim,
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